


Hipbones

by annie_reckson



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, Derek will never admit it but he kinda likes showing off, M/M, Masturbation, Obsession, Stiles is a teenager with teenage needs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-12 19:44:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2122356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annie_reckson/pseuds/annie_reckson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And that's when every one of Stiles's synapses seemed to fire at the same time and zero in on one part of Derek's anatomy: His glorious, protruding hipbones.</p><p>Stiles knew those hipbones.</p><p>THOSE hipbones. The ones clammy and covered in a sheen of sweat, attached to the gorgeous body that was still on Deaton's floor for some reason and breathing heavy like Derek was actively trying to look like he belonged in a low-rent porno. They were part of the reason Stiles had realized he was bisexual in the first place. He wasn't about to admit that he'd jacked off to them so many times that he most definitely recognized them but...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So basically I saw [this picture](http://i.dlisted.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/tylerho4.jpg) and my mind just went from there.
> 
> aka - Here's a story where Stiles has unknowingly been using Derek as a masturbatory aid and Derek is surprisingly okay with it

In retrospect, Stiles should have figured it out that day in the woods; the day he and Scott first saw Derek Hale.

Well.

Truth be told, Stiles had seen Derek a few times - multiple members of the Hale clan actually - before the fire happened and both Derek and Laura decided to skip town for the bright lights of New York City.

But this was definitely his first time speaking to him. That was completely accurate.

Anyways.

Stiles should have figured it out then, maybe noticed the initial pulses of confusion flooding his brain while Derek stared at him - well, stared at both of them. As if his brain knew Derek’s face looked familiar and was trying to piece together why. At the time, Stiles had simply decided that he was just having trouble connecting the Derek he’d seen six years ago with the Derek that...had a very nice shoulder-to-hip ratio that was noticeable even with the leather jacket on.

Which naturally also happened to be the Derek giving them a very angry, exasperated look until they retreated off of his property.

So they'd left and Stiles hadn't given much thought to him after that. Obviously, there were more important things on his mind. Especially once he realized that Scott was definitely a lycanthrope. And that the full moon was coming. And that Derek was most likely responsible for this whole situation since he was ALSO a lycanthrope. Which, wow, how does one go from knowing zero werewolves to knowing two (okay maybe three counting Derek's dead sister...maybe two and a half if you want to be morbid) in a span of a few days?

Sure, Scott sometimes brought him up in conversation when Derek was...teaching him or whatever, but Stiles had already chosen to compartmentalize Derek as the "Grumpy Werewolf Who Probably Bit Scott And Maybe, No, DEFINITELY Killed His Sister." So it wasn't a problem.

Until...well...until Derek collapsed in front of his car in front of the entire school. And Scott decided to appoint Stiles as the Official Werewolf Babysitter while he went and searched the Argents's house to find the type of bullet that had shot Derek. Not that he didn't want to be around delightfully misanthropic Derek, it's just that he was still a teeny bit terrified of the pasty body - which, fuck, for some reason, looked even MORE like it was sculpted from fucking marble - in his passenger seat. 

And maybe, when Derek threatened to rip his throat out with his teeth, Stiles imagined other, better, places where Derek could put those adorable bunny teeth of his to good use. But he'd immediately brushed those thoughts away, because this was _Derek_ and he still wasn't sure whether they could trust him, ridiculous unintentional sexiness be damned.

Stiles nearly had an "A-ha!" moment at the vet clinic, when Derek ripped his shirt off. Despite the fact that it had been in a fit of desperation and he'd almost immediately tied an elastic around his arm like a tweaking heroin addict, Stiles found himself completely focused on Derek's very sculpted chest. For some reason, it looked vaguely familiar. If anything, it gave his brain something to focus on besides the very situation in front of him that was  _Derek trying to convince him to cut his arm off_. 

He was still trying to piece things together - somehow, _some way_ , he knew he'd seen Derek's chest before, which was a very weird thought to have at the moment - when Scott finally fucking got there with the wolfsbane. And Derek immediately burned it and rubbed the ashes into his arm before writhing on the floor like he had no idea what he looked like. Stiles was going to have awkward boners for at least the next three weeks. 

And that's when every one of Stiles's synapses seemed to fire at the same time and zero in on one part of Derek's anatomy: His glorious, protruding hipbones.

Stiles knew those hipbones.

 _THOSE_ hipbones. The ones clammy and covered in a sheen of sweat, attached to the gorgeous body that was still on Deaton's floor for some reason and breathing heavy like Derek was actively trying to look like he belonged in a low-rent porno. They were part of the reason Stiles had realized he was bisexual in the first place. He wasn't about to admit that he'd jacked off to them so many times that he most definitely recognized them but...

Luckily, Scott was busy being petulantly whiny and mad at Derek and Derek was busy trying to get Scott on his side that neither of them noticed Stiles slipping out the front door. Thankfully so, because he had no idea what he would have told them as an excuse for his exit. Definitely not the truth.

Because the truth was, Stiles was racing home as fast as he could, hoping he was wrong for once. Also hoping that his dad wasn't home yet, because he absolutely needed privacy for what he was about to do. Once he finally pulled into his driveway, he ran into his house and up the stairs faster than he knew possible and nearly ripped his mattress off the box springs.

A folded, glossy piece of paper fluttered to the carpet and Stiles eyed it cautiously before stepping over and gingerly picking it up. He already knew what image he would see once he unfolded it, but held his breath anyway and wished that a different face would be showing when it was opened.

[And of course it wasn't](http://i.dlisted.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/tylerho4.jpg). Because Stiles could never be that lucky. Instead of some random, great-looking model, it was the same strong jawline, the same hooded eyes, same mouth parted slightly. Same ridiculously defined chest, same thick veins on the hands, same perfect hipbones jutting out just waiting to be bitten...

Stiles yanked his free hand away from where it was hovering just above his zipper. There was absolutely no way he was allowing himself to jerk off to Derek Hale. Well, at least not now that he knew it was Derek. Derek was grumpy, broody, and would possibly murder him if he ever found out that Stiles had fantasized about what lay beneath the jeans tugged so low that it was criminal...

Okay maybe the lizard part of Stiles’ brain wasn’t willing to cooperate with the whole “abstaining” plan. Because no matter how much Stiles tried to convince himself of the very wrongness of what he was doing, he found himself unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down. He bit his lower lip and rubbed the heel of his hand against the bulge in his underwear.

Yeah, he was definitely half-hard already.

Goddamnit.

With a grunt, he let himself fall backwards onto his bed and pulled his underwear down just enough that he was able to tug his cock out. He gripped it immediately, slowly stroking until it was fully and completely erect. He could already tell that this wasn't going to last long, not with the desperate way he was squeezing and pulling on himself.

It was urgent, not like the other times he’d lazily fantasized about the black and white photo clutched in the hand that currently wasn’t rubbing the head of his dick. He generously used the precum gathered at the tip to ease some of the friction as he quickened his pace. Perhaps, maybe, he told himself, if he got this out of his system, he’d be able to ignore it and function around Derek.

Derek.

Derek Hale.

Derek Hale with the perfect chest and sculpted arms and chiseled jawline and gorgeous fucking hip-

Stiles stuttered as he came, covering his hand, stomach, and the top of his jeans. Which, great, now he was going to have to change. Well, not right now, but definitely before his dad got home, which most likely wouldn’t be for a few more hours.

Actually yes, right now. Because all he wanted to do was sleep. Sleep and pretend that a certain werewolf’s name hadn’t escaped his lips right when he’d orgasmed. As far as he was concerned, that had never happened. And he would definitely go to his grave before admitting that his mind might have wandered a bit to more recent images of Derek. Like the way Derek had looked when he was lying on Deaton’s floor.

He roughly tore his jeans and briefs the rest of the way off, then flung himself into bed and burrowed as deep into his comforter as he could. And tried very, very hard not to think about werewolves that were far too good-looking for their own good.

 


	2. Chapter 2

For a little while, Stiles actually believed his masturbatory catharsis had worked. He'd managed to keep it together when Scott had talked about the amount of time he was spending with Derek. And he hadn't even embarrassed himself when Derek had met them at the school on the fateful evening that the Alpha had almost murdered them. In fact, he'd even managed a quip or two. _Good job, Stiles._

He was even able to handle being in the Camaro while Derek was also in it. Oh yeah, he could totally do this close proximity thing without freaking out or acting weird. Well, weirder than usual. He totally had this. He could definitely disconnect the Derek Hale helping out Scott from the salacious model on the glossy ad that was currently underneath a pile of research sitting on his desk (okay so maybe he’d had another moment where his self-control had lapsed a bit, but now he was definitely over it). This wasn’t going to be an issue, whatsoever.

 

***

 

And then Derek, of course, had to go and ruin it by being in Stiles’s bedroom. Guys who looked like Derek Hale were not supposed to be in Stiles’s bedroom. At least not while he was awake, anyway.

But here Derek was, looking as grumpy as usual. Possibly grumpier, who knows. In any case, slamming Stiles against his own bedroom wall and making vaguely menacing threats seemed to cheer him up a bit. Not that Stiles was going to just cow to his bullying, no way, Stiles could definitely be menacing, too. _Totally cool, Stiles_. Now all he had to do was walk away and adjust himself as discreetly as possible.

He sat down at his desk with Derek following close behind him, “So, wolfie, other than hiding out in possibly the worst place ever considering my dad - the Sheriff - almost found you, what exactly are you doing here?”

Derek sneered, “While Scott’s trying to get the necklace, I need to know what you’ve found out so far.”

“Not much, honestly,” Stiles sighed, “I’ve got someone coming over to help out with that weird text Allison got that she thought was from Scott, but other than that I’ve just been looking up family crests and whatnot. I haven’t gotten very far, though.”

He gestured towards his pile of researched printouts as evidence. Derek frowned and picked up the first few sheets, looking at them crossly before discarding them onto the floor, like an animal. Which Stiles was about to remark on, but then remembered that he rather enjoyed being in one piece. While he was starting to feel more comfortable around the werewolf, he still wasn’t fully at ease around him.

“So you’re telling me,” He rested his hand on the now-disheveled stack of papers, “That so far...we know absolutely nothing?” At the last word, Derek flung the entire pile onto the floor, spreading them in a haphazard line from Stiles’s desk to his bed.

Stiles’s breath catches as he notices the corner of a certain black-and-white glossy sheet peeking out from under a few printouts of a Wikipedia article he was reading last night. Derek seems to be able to read his mind because he follows his gaze until it lands on the incriminating print and Derek’s eyes widen. Before Stiles can react, Derek reaches down and snatches it from the floor, crinkling one side of it in the tightness of his grasp.

"Stiles...."

Derek's voice had that desperate tone to it that only sounded slightly angry and just a little bit needy and...yep. Stiles' dick was officially involved in the proceedings. He quickly tried to think of really anything - drippy sewage lines, dead raccoons, his second grade teacher - that would prevent the smell of arousal from getting to Derek. Werewolves could totally smell arousal, right?

Oh yeah. Judging by how high Derek's eyebrows were crawling up his forehead - threatening to disappear in that ridiculous Disney villain haircut of his - they definitely could. He wondered how much it would actually hurt if he decided to jump out of his own window.

“Stiles,” There was that tone again, very not fair, “Why do you have this? Did you go looking for this after-”

Oh. _That’s_ what Derek thought? He actually thought that after meeting him, Stiles had used his killer researching skills to find and download really sexy pictures of him? Well, if there was anything Stiles could do, he could correct misinformation.

“No, dude! Nothing like that. I’ve had that picture for like...three years now.”

And from the way Derek’s eyes looked dangerously close to actually bugging out of his head, that hadn’t really helped the situation at all.

“Excuse me?” The words were more bitten out than actually said.

"I've just...y'know, I've had it for awhile. Not because....it was, y'know, you or anything."

Still not helping. Then Derek brought the photo up to his face and actually sniffed it. And now Derek was looking at him equal parts confused and murderous.

"Stiles." Again? Really? "Have you....Why did....you've...."

They were, thankfully, interrupted again by the Sheriff calling for Stiles again, and Stiles had never been so happy to hear his dad's voice. Or to see Danny. The awkwardness that was starting to take over the room had almost made him forget that Danny was supposed to come over.

When they got back upstairs, Derek was slumped in a chair reading one of Stiles' textbooks with his customary grumpy expression back in place. A cursory glance around the room let Stiles know that the photo was put back away...somewhere. And the murderous look Derek was giving him seemed to be an assurance that they'd be talking about it later.

So maybe if Stiles decided to be a little shit and take advantage of what he knew was under that bloodied henley in order to convince Danny to do what he wanted, who could blame him?

Derek. Derek could blame him.

In fact, he’s not entirely sure how Derek avoided breaking his nose when he slammed it into the steering wheel. He’s pretty sure he didn’t deserve all that.

However, one good thing that came out of the “Oh shit, Peter Hale is the Alpha, fucking fucknuts, what do we do?” debacle was that Derek seemed to forget about the whole “Oh shit, Derek found out I jacked off to a picture of him multiple times, fucking fucknuts, what do I do?” debacle. In fact, Derek didn’t mention it at all. And if Stiles hadn’t brought it up again, the sourwolf might have forgotten about it.

 

***

 

Except Stiles is an idiot sometimes and doesn’t know when to shut up when the universe decides to throw him a bone.

So when the kanima happened and Stiles found himself treading water while trying to hold a limp werewolf up with one arm, he decided to press his luck. After all, it seemed like they were going to be there awhile, what with them not really having any sort of escape plan, so he might as well try to pass the time. And since right now Derek was physically incapable of hurting him, Stiles had a few questions.

“So...” Stiles started, a bit wary, “I’m guessing you did some modeling in New York?”

Derek spit out a mouthful of water, “Stiles, what are you talking about?”

“You know...the uh...the photo.”

“What pho- _Oh_.” Derek’s eyes widened, “You mean the one that you’ve-”

“Yeah yeah, lots of people have done lots of things with lots of....other things. Not important. Just answer the question Wolfman.”

Derek sighed, as if answering Stiles was physically painful, “Yeah. Laura got me into it. It was sort of an accident.”

“Excuse me? How do you accidentally end up doing that?”

“Laura was into photography, she got a job working for an agency, one day the model they were supposed to use got sick and she called me in a fit of desperation. So I filled in. And the agency liked me. So I did it a few more times. End of story.”

“Dude. Dude. NOT end of story. You mean there’s more...photos...like that?”

“Like what, Stiles?”

Okay seriously, Derek HAD to enjoy messing with him. Because there was no way he wasn’t playing dumb right now.

“Omigod, Derek. Like the one I...have.”

“You mean the one with your...scent all over it?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and hoped Derek couldn’t see the blush covering his cheeks, “I suppose that’s one way of putting it.”“The photo you seem to enjoy so much is part of just one shoot. So yeah, there’s quite a few more.”

Oh dear sweet, innocent baby Jesus in a stick manger. For one of the few times in his admittedly short life, Stiles found himself at a loss for words.

“You know that my sense of smell didn’t get paralyzed, right?”

Stiles huffed, “Shut up, omigod Derek. You just have to ruin the moment, don’t you?”

Derek raised his eyebrows, “Yeah, well, just because right now I can’t feel the boner pressing against my thigh doesn’t mean I’m not aware of its existence.”

Stiles snickered against his will, “I guess you’d call that Schrödinger’s boner, eh?”

“Jesus Christ. Please just drown me.”

“Calm down, Snarls McGrumpface, who knows when we’ll be this close again?”

Derek just rolled his eyes, and Stiles was really enjoying the fact that Derek was unable to react aggressively. If he’d had use of his appendages, Stiles would probably be face-first against a concrete wall right now. And not exactly in a good way.

Scott came to rescue them shortly afterwards, right when Stiles was sure he wouldn’t be able to hold on any longer. So, perfect timing on Scott’s part, as always.

But even after they were rescued, Derek didn’t come after him about their conversation in the pool like Stiles had expected. Honestly, he didn't think Derek would come right out and talk about it with Scott and Erica there - it didn’t seem like something he was exactly eager to disclose, although Stiles had no clue why - but Stiles was genuinely surprised when, like before, Derek seemed to just...forget about it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you get enough of [this picture?](http://i.dlisted.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/tylerho4.jpg) Because I can't.


	3. Chapter 3

Or at least, that’s what Stiles thought. Until he checked the mail a few mornings later and thanked every deity in heaven that his dad was already at work and hadn’t been the one to open the mailbox that day. Because when Stiles pulled the metal hinge down, the first thing he noticed was a glossy piece of paper folded in half sitting on top of the plain, white envelopes.

Stiles reached tentatively for it, brushing his fingers over the slick paper before snatching it towards his chest. He held it there for a few moments, taking a few deep breaths before he could summon the courage to unfold it. But when he finally did, it was possibly one of the happiest moments of his life.

[This photo](http://www.ohmygahh.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/tyler-hoechlin-shirtless-2014-475x673.jpg) looked like it was from the same shoot as the other one, except it was in color. In this one, Derek was looking right at the camera. Only his arms and the upper part of his torso were visible but you could definitely tell that he was still shirtless. One strong hand was cupping his jaw and his lips were defiantly parted ever so slightly and...Stiles needed to get back in the house absolutely right now.

He barely made it through the door before his sweatpants were tugged down around his thighs, his dick already hard and flushed. His eyes were clenched shut as he leaned against the front door and wrapped his hand around his cock and applied a steady, but firm, amount of pressure. A gasp escaped his lips as he brought his hand to the very tip and spent a few strokes focused on rubbing the slick precum leaking out of the slit all over the plump head.

His other hand started out pinching and rubbing roughly against his nipple but soon slid down his body until it was cupping his balls. Desperate noises came out of him as his long fingers played over and tugged against the sensitive skin on his testicles. The sensitivity was overwhelming and he bit his lip in vain as muffled cries echoed throughout the empty house.

With a grunt, he let his head fall back against the hard, wooden door and pulled his sweatpants back up,  wiping his hand on them even though he knew he’d regret it later. After a few deep, calming breaths, Stiles picked up the photo from where he’d hurriedly dropped it earlier and took it upstairs to his room. Once there, he took one last, lingering look at it before tucking it beneath his mattress with the other one.

 

***

 

The next one comes the morning after Stiles’s surprisingly eventful first experience in a gay club. Sure, it still stung a bit that gay guys didn’t seem interested in him - first girls, and now guys, at this rate he was probably going to end up in a forced celibate state - but he was trying to focus on the positive. Namely, that they’d saved Danny and managed to capture Jackson.

He’d tried to time his departure from the Preserve so that the Sheriff wouldn’t be home when he got there. His dad seemed a bit worried about him after seeing him at Jungle, clearly not a “gay” thing though, but more of a “Why is my son always where danger also is?” thing. Stiles still hadn’t had the “neither strictly dickly nor strictly clitly” talk with his dad yet, but he was trying to save it for when it would actually matter. Right now he was too busy trying not to die or get eaten to worry about trying to hold something down with another person.

In any case, he was more focused now on getting some rest, because “acquiring” the police van had taken a lot more time and effort than he’d initially expected. And Scott and Allison would be fine watching over Jackson for the time being, so he was perfectly fine with a calm morning that would consist of him checking the mail, making some scrambled eggs, and then crashing on his couch for a few hours. After all, it was Saturday, there wasn’t much he could get up to at the moment.

Except, it appeared, racing up the stairs at a breakneck pace, stripping his clothes off on the way and jumping in the shower.

Obviously he hadn’t planned on that, but another photo had been sitting innocently in his mailbox. Like some sort of unassuming sex cobra just waiting to infect him with its....sex....venom. Whatever. He was tired and not great with metaphors. And had clearly been dealing with this kanima thing for far too long.

When he opened it up, he immediately recognized it as another one from the same shoot. Or at least that’s what Stiles assumed because Derek’s hair was styled in a similar fashion. At least [in this one](http://www.ohmygahh.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/tyler-hoechlin-sexy-hair-2014.jpg) he was wearing a shirt, although the sleeves were rolled up to show off his - frankly ridiculous - shoulder muscles so really it wasn’t that much better. And the faraway look in his eyes as he stares just over the photographer’s shoulder is just enough to...

To cause Stiles’s to go slack-jawed in his shower as he came fiercely to the thought of those piercing eyes gazing up at him as those insane lips wrapped around his dick. He groaned and hit his fist against the wet tile.

He had it pretty bad. Fucking. _Derek_.

 

***

 

He’s pretty sure that any situation with Derek would be awkward at this point, but lying paralyzed and smooshed against him on the floor of the police station is possibly Stiles’ worst case scenario. And when they’re left alone, again, Stiles once again feels the need to fill the silence. Because he’s stupid.

“So...I haven’t had a chance to thank you for the... photos.”

Derek glances over at him and lifts an eyebrow, “Don’t mention it. I figured since you liked the first one so much, you’d enjoy seeing a couple more.”

Oh shit. Stiles hadn't expected Derek to _actually_ admit to doing it. To be honest, he hadn't even been 100% certain that it was Derek doing. Although...really..he wasn't sure who else it would have been.

 _Just be cool, Stiles_ , "So, like, were you...modeling... for anyone or, or anything in parti-"

"The ones you've seen were part of a campaign for Lucky."

"The jeans brand?"

“Yeah.”

“Well that’s kinda ironic.”

Derek rolls his eyes at him and says nothing.

“Okay sorry just...umm... Why aren’t you doing it anymore?”

Derek narrows his eyes at him, “I’ve got a few more pressing matters at hand. Kanimas and whatnot, y’know.”

Stiles groans, “Obviously, dude. I mean, like, why did you even stay here after Peter died? Why didn’t you just go back to NYC,” And yes, he totally pronounces it ‘En-Why-See’, “And show off that body for cameras again?”

There’s a definite pause while Derek seems to gather himself, “I worked with a few photographers, a few companies, but Laura was the main one who shot me. And I...I guess part of me doesn’t want to go back there and work without her. I’m not going to say it’ll make her...passing feel more real because it already feels very real already, but it definitely won’t help.”

Stiles looks down, “Oh,” He looked away, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Stiles.”

“No I just...I know what it’s like to lose someone you care about.”

“I know.”

Stiles turned his head back to look at him and...Whoa. Their faces were very close together, dangerously close, even. Had Matt really, deliberately, placed them this close to each other? All Stiles knew was that if he could just lean forward a couple of inches then their lips would be brushing together and, honestly, from the look on Derek’s face, he seemed at least a bit receptive to it, too.

But then Scott - who usually has such perfect timing - picked that moment to bust back through the doorway. And Derek immediately, for whatever reason, shouted at Scott to take Stiles with him and get him out of there. Leaving Stiles, of course, with no say in the matter as Scott dragged him away.

And he was probably imagining that intense look of _want_ that Derek was giving him. Or projecting. Yeah, definitely projecting.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT. In trying to find a different version of the second picture, I definitely [found THIS](http://31.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mb1p9f8IrT1rf8ui6o6_500.jpg). 
> 
> Which I'm pretty stoked about
> 
> And you know what else I found? [THIS](http://games.usvsth3m.com/2048/tyler-hoechlin-edition/). So you're welcome, you're all very very welcome


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles has never seen that much black...ooze, pus, liquid, whatever...come out of a person before. Jackson's experience with it hadn't been great, from what he's been told, but it's still pouring out of every one of Gerard's orifices and it's enough to make Stiles dry-heave once he and Lydia finally arrive.

The whole situation is a bit surreal: Derek being forced to bite Gerard, then Gerard exploding black goo - "like a fountain created by Tim Burton" according to Isaac - because Scott had been executing a plan behind the scenes that he hadn't even told STILES about, Jackson being cured of his kanima-ness (kanimity?) by Lydia, and then there was, of course, Jackson turning into a werewolf. Which is exactly what Beacon Hills needed. A narcissistic bully with superhuman strength.

Chris Argent is the first one to leave, mostly to try and take care of the absolute mess that is Gerard. Jackson and Lydia follow suit soon afterwards, so Stiles assumes that means they’re back together...again. Peter and Isaac hang around chatting with Derek, then follow after them to make sure they get home safe; considering that Jackson is still pretty weak after his transformation. During all this, Scott decides to take Stiles aside and explain how important it is for him to try and make things right with Allison again, since she seems pretty open to it right now. Or, well, at least she seems less murderous now. Stiles groans but agrees with him, he hasn’t ever been able to say know to Scott’s dumb grin and big, dumb eyes.

Which leaves Stiles alone in the creepy abandoned warehouse. With Derek. Who looks like he accidentally ate a bag of orphaned kittens. Stiles can’t handle this. He’s never seen Derek look this vulnerable and it makes him want to give him the biggest, warmest hug he can muster, despite the consequences.  

Instead, he shuffles over to where the alpha is busy staring at his shoes, “Hey man would you like... a ride home maybe?”

Derek’s head snaps up at him as if he’s just now realized that Stiles hasn’t left yet. He stares at him, brow furrowed, for a few minutes before he seems to gather himself. With a sigh, he shakes his head and walks over to the teenager.

"Stiles, why are you still here?"

Was there actually a reason? "Dude, you saw the way Scott and Allison were looking at each other. I probably won’t see him again all week, so I stuck around to chat with him before he left.”

The tiniest of smiles hints at the edge of his mouth, “You guys go through withdrawal way too easily.”

Stiles shrugs nonchalantly, like this isn’t the first time he’s heard that, “Eh, best friends for life, y’know.”

Derek looks like he’s about to chuckle, but then his brow furrows and the hurt expression flows back onto his face, “Did you know...” His eyes are locked on Stiles, “Did you know about his... mountain ash plan?”

“No.” Stiles shook his head, “He kept me in the dark, too. That was all Scott and Deaton.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Stiles lets Derek mope for another second before tugging on his upper arm, “Now c’mon man. You should let me give you a ride home.”

Derek’s shoulders sag, like his ‘fight meter’ has been tapped out, “Sure...okay. Yeah.”

Stiles slaps him gently on the shoulder and leads him towards the Jeep, even going as far as opening the door and maneuvering him inside. The whole thing gives Stiles a wave of déjà vu, but he brushes it away and climbs into the driver’s seat. Derek doesn’t seem as pitiful now as he did the last time he’d been nearly passed out in Stiles's Jeep, but then again, it was a different type of pitiful back then.

When Derek had been shot, he’d just been physically weak, barely able to stand on his own but otherwise alright. Now he just seemed...broken. Sure, Stiles could understand being hurt that Scott was working out a plan behind their backs -  and he was a little upset about it, too - but Derek seemed to be taking it a little more personally.

For all appearances, Derek looked asleep during the drive. As a courtesy, Stiles didn’t even turn on the radio, instead maintaining the relative silence between him. A few times, he snuck a glance out of the corner of his eye to admire Derek’s sleeping form, relaxed and warm in his passenger seat.

When Derek finally spoke, Stiles initially thought he’d imagined it, “Do you think he’ll ever _actually_ trust me?” His voice was adorably muffled by his tiredness and it made Stiles's chest ache.

“I don’t know,” Stiles finally replied, “He definitely doesn’t trust Peter - and I mean, fuck, I don’t even really trust Peter - and he doesn’t like your...methods.”

Derek shifts in the seat and speaks, though he keeps his eyes closed, “Scott doesn’t understand my methods. He’s young. He’s new to all of this. He doesn’t know what I need - as an Alpha.”

Stiles smirks despite himself, “And what exactly do you need? As an Alpha?”

He’s mostly joking, but it still disappoints him a little when Derek just sleepily chuckles and curls more into himself. Although he doesn’t want to think about why. Instead, he absentmindedly reaches over and rubs his hand over Derek’s shoulder in a reassuring gesture.

A tiny squeak escapes Stiles's mouth as Derek reaches up, grasps his hand, and tugs it down to where his own are nestled against his chest. For a split second, Stiles considers pulling it back because...does Derek even realize what he’s doing? If not, he’ll probably be pissed once he does actually wake up. But, Derek looks seriously peaceful hunched over across from him with his eyes closed and his mouth slightly parted and...Stiles can’t bring himself to jar him away from that.

And just... Stiles really likes holding his hand, okay? Derek is really warm and the physical contact is really nice, even if it might only be because Derek just needs some friendly contact right now. But the way Derek has his hand nestled, it's _right against_  Derek's bottom lip and that's just cruel.

Derek rustled awake when they got near to the abandoned subway station. His eyes were still a little glazed over and he shook his head in confusion before he seemed to realize where he was. But instead of acting upset, like Stiles expected, he smiled and gave Stiles's hand a squeeze before releasing it and sitting up properly.

However, the silence continued for the rest of the way there. Mostly because Stiles wasn't really sure what to say next. And when they arrived, Derek just thanked him again before getting out of the Jeep and disappearing into the station. Stiles took a few deep breaths and tried to figure out _what the fuck_ had just happened.

Before he could dwell on it too long, his thought process was interrupted by his phone buzzing. And of course it was Scott. Apparently things didn't go so well with Allison after all. Turns out those puppy dog eyes aren't 100% effective. Alert the presses. So Stiles sighs and starts heading to the grocery store to pick up a frozen pizza. His own internal musings could wait, right now Scott needed him.

 

***

 

For the next month or so into summer, Stiles kept himself occupied with consistently being the best bro that Scott could have. They might not have popularity, or girlfriends, or dashing good looks like a certain werewolf that had been mysteriously absent since he’d snuggled Stiles's hand - and not Stiles - when Stiles had driven him home. So, him and Scott may not exactly have all or any of that, but they still had each other. And if that meant Stiles getting his ass kicked repeatedly in lacrosse to make his absolute best buddy happy? Yeah, he could do that.

Which is where he was getting back from when he noticed something on his pillow. For whatever reason, he doesn’t see it when he throws his lacrosse bag through his bedroom doorway on the way to the shower, but it’s sitting there when he strides into his room with just a towel on. Just resting lightly on the fluffy pillow he sleeps on every night like his dad hired a maid whose trademark is leaving behind free porn rather than free chocolates.

Stiles doesn’t even get dressed before flipping it open.

Well, [technically this isn’t porn but it is _damn near close_](http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/236x/9c/f1/21/9cf1216a5a115bd7c9d239951f1e0127.jpg). Turns out that Derek has always looked _really fucking good_ in a leather jacket. Especially when he’s shirtless and has his arms splayed open and back. And the shirtless part seems like it was crafted specifically to put all of Stiles's favorite parts on display, every muscle stretched taut and shiny with sweat. His eyes roam down slowly, until his gaze falls on two sets of muscle and bone sticking out just above the waistband of his jeans. Stiles's mouth is hanging open like some Tex Avery cartoon and he desperately wants to put lips - and tongue, definitely tongue - all over every piece of skin showing in this picture.

Which is really _not fucking fair_.

That’s when Stiles realizes that - _boner be damned_ \- he’s about to have some words with Derek fucking Hale to try and figure out exactly what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. For fuck’s sake, Derek knows what Stiles...did...with the first picture so it’s not like he just innocently thought Stiles wanted to look at lots of different angles of his face. Although, his face did look really nice. Those deep-set yet bright eyes, sharp cheekbones, fucking gorgeous lips....jawline looking like some asshole chiseled it out of marble....

Not the point.

Stiles stands in the middle of his room, fists clenched, and recites the state capitols in alphabetical order until he wills his penis back to at least a mostly-flaccid state (he has to go all the way to South Dakota before this happens; but to be fair, _Derek fucking Hale_ ) before finally getting dressed. He’s barely paying attention to what he’s throwing on, not even sure if the shirt his tugging over his head is clean, just focused on getting to Derek as quickly as possible. Because a certain werewolf was about to get fucking lectured about toying with a teenage boy’s ~~erections~~. Emotions. Teenage boy’s emotions.

Although the former one wouldn’t be too bad.

 

***

 

He starts heading towards the subway station before remembering that, at some point, Derek had decided that an actual residential location was better than an old train car and had moved into a loft. Cursing under his breath, Stiles turns the Jeep around at the very next intersection. He vaguely remembers Isaac telling him where the new Casa del Lobos was and drives in that direction instead. There’s not even a reason for his own misdirection to get him so upset, but he clenches the wheel even harder nonetheless.

By the time the Jeep pulls into the unevenly-paved parking lot, Stiles is _seething_. He jumps out before the engine has even completely shut off, possibly leaving the driver’s side door open, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t check. Right now he’s too focused on stomping and looking as imposing as a gangly seventeen-year old can possibly muster as he races inside the industrial looking building.

“ _DEREK_.” He shouts as he slings the loft door open as hard as he can.

Luckily, Derek is standing at his desk, so Stiles doesn’t look totally stupid. Since just now he realizes that he didn’t think to check the parking lot for Derek’s Camaro or anything. Derek slowly turns around and gives Stiles an absolutely adorable confused expression, like he has no idea why Stiles would come barreling into his space. But, then Stiles coincidentally remembers that this isn’t just Derek’s space.”

Stiles gasps to catch his breath, “Is Isaac here?”

Derek shakes his head, “No, he’s out looking for Erica and Boyd.”

Stiles narrows his eyes and lowers his voice, “Is Peter here?”

Derek huffs in annoyance, “No, Stiles. It’s just me here.”

To further prove his point, Derek raises his eyebrows and gives Stiles an incredulous look as he lifts his arms up and waves them around the open space. Stiles will never admit it, but it definitely reminds me of a Michael Jackson dance move and he’s barely able to suppress his chuckle.

_No, Stiles. You are MAD._

Right. Mad. So instead, Stiles shoves down the giggles threatening to overcome the scowl on his face and marches over to Derek until he’s invading _his_ personal space. Because turnabout is fair play. And fun. Except he wishes Derek looked a little more scared, rather than just confused.

Stiles isn’t in the mood to waste time, “In that case, what is your problem, man?”

“What are you talking about, Stiles?”

Stiles has to admit, Derek seems to genuinely not understand why Stiles is so upset. Which is fine. Stiles has no problem educating him on his uncouth-ness.

“You can’t just... _do_ what you’re doing. You know that, right?”

Derek raises an eyebrow, “What exactly am I doing, again?” At this point, Stiles figures that Derek  _has_ to be teasing him in some way.

Stiles laughs out of frustration, “Are you serious, Derek? You know how...affected...I was by the picture I had of you - _even though I didn’t know it was you_ \- so you decide to send me even sexier photos of yourself? What exactly did you think was going to happen?”

“But didn’t you....enjoy them?” And Jesus, Derek actually looks kinda upset.

“Well yeah, of course I did, man. But that’s exactly the point! What’s your angle, dude?”

He’s not sure what he expects, probably for Derek to sheepishly shrug and give some sort of fibbish excuse or roll his eyes and tell Stiles to leave. Especially since, technically, Stiles isn’t really supposed to call him “dude”. Instead, Derek gives him a predatory grin and grips the edges of his desk so he can lean forward into Stiles’s space.

“What do you think was my motive, _Stiles_?”

Fuck. He draws his name out like he knows how Stiles reacts to it. How every part of Stiles reacts to it. And judging by the look in his eyes, Derek isn’t exactly immune to such...reactions. Stiles’s breath catches in his throat and he tries resolutely to steal his eyes away from their determined focus on Derek’s cheshire grin.

“So this was your...Wait, were you _flirting_ with me?”

Derek bites his own bottom lip and it shouldn’t look as sexy as it does, “Yeah...I guess so. I’m typically not very good at it. Was I good at it this time?”

Goddamn shit. Derek is _definitely_ not allowed to utter phrases like that all nonchalantly.

Stiles wants to laugh, but he’s afraid it’ll make Derek back away and he’s not quite ready for that, “Yeah well, I don’t think it’d be right to complain about the amazing presents you’ve left for me over the past few months, but,” And fuck it, seriously. Because if Derek Hale is going to lean over him like _this_ and look at him like _that_ and act the way he’s been acting, then Stiles is just going to go for it and see what happens, “I think I would have appreciated it a lot more if you would have just shown me what’s in those photos up close.”

Derek pressed closer to him, stopping just inches away from Stiles’s face. His eyes were dark and his breathing had noticeably picked up, traits that Stiles was sharing at this point. Suddenly, Stiles realized how obvious his actions must have been to Derek. The werewolf must have known exactly what would happen when he decided to indulge Stiles’s very obvious appreciation of his body.

Sure, Stiles could still freak out and yell at him. He could point out how ridiculous - not to mention time-consuming; Jesus, if Stiles had known they’d end up here, he would have confronted Derek when the first photo had showed up in his mailbox -  this whole venture had been. He could even tell Derek to back off and they could go back to the strange passive-aggressive tension-fueled relationship they’d been dancing around since they met. But indulging this? That seemed like a better option.

And so Stiles surged forward, haphazardly meeting Derek’s lips. Because fuck it. Why not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've decided to tag this as Underage because this is about to get decidedly more _Mature_ and, well, Stiles is still just seventeen (he's a baaaaayyyyy-beeeeeee).


	5. Chapter 5

Oh _fuck_...this is actually happening.

Stiles tries to get his brain to focus on WHAT’S actually happening, but it seems keen to continue freaking out that it’s happening at all.

And the _it_?

Stiles is, actually, kissing Derek Hale. And Derek isn’t pulling away. In fact, Derek is tilting his head to deepen their kiss, he’s licking his tongue along Stiles’s bottom lip until Stiles sighs involuntarily and coincidentally gives Derek access to his mouth, he’s gripping Stiles by the waist and tugging him closer until their bodies are pressed together and Stiles can feel just how into this Derek actually is. He allows himself a tiny, contented sigh before moaning ridiculously as he bites and tugs at Derek’s lower lip.

Then, suddenly, the hands on his waist tighten and shove him backwards. At first, Stiles chases Derek’s mouth and scrabbles his fingers down his back to try and get closer to him again. Then he opens his eyes and realizes that Derek is staring at him with a look that is much more “hurt puppy” than “aroused sexwolf”. And that’s...confusing because, while he doesn’t have a ton of practice in this area, he’s pretty sure that he wasn’t awful at it.

“Derek...” He knows how much Derek loves prolonging pained silences, and right now Stiles can’t handle that, “Was I...did I do something wrong?”

Derek shakes his head and, much to Stiles’s displeasure, moves his hands back to the desk behind him, “Stiles, I just...I can’t do this.”

You know those situations where you know that you’re only laughing to prevent yourself from crying? Stiles had thought he was past those once he left middle school, but apparently not. Right now he was covering his mouth with his hands, pointer fingers pressed firmly against the side of his lips, and cackling with more misplaced mirth than he thought possible. And Derek was looking at him all wide-eyed with parted lips like Stiles was the most confusing creature he’d ever laid eyes on.

“Are you fucking serious, dude?”

“Seriously, Stiles-”

“No. You don’t get to ‘ _Seriously, Stiles_ ’ me,” Stiles surprised himself by how well he was able to deepen his pitch to mock Derek’s voice, “You...you _started_ this whole thing, Derek!”

“ _I_ started it? How exactly did _I_ start it when you were-”

“Oh my GOD. For the last time, I didn’t know that it was you!”

“But even after you found out...”

Stiles smiled sheepishly, “Well yeah, like, a couple of times. Maybe. But I was planning on stopping. Honest.”

And Derek actually grinned at him, “Of course you were.” Then he crossed his arms and leaned against the desk as if he was actually enjoying this exchange.

“Well it’s not like you helped, you’ve pretty much become my sole wet dream supplier.”

Derek groans, annoyed, “Stiles.”

Stiles lowers his voice, “What did you think was going to happen? What did you think was going to be the result of all of this?”

Derek groans, in a different sort of way, “Stiles...”

Suddenly, something clicks, “Wait. Is this some sort of gay panic? Are you freaking out because the good Lord gave me a dangler instead of a pocket?”

The werewolf winces then smirks at him, “Despite your colorful...description...does that seem like something I’d panic about? You really think I’d go through all that trouble just to push you away because of your gender?”

“Then I...just...for fuck’s sake Derek. just tell me! Because what we were doing? That was pretty nice.”

Derek rubs his face, “Stiles. You’re underage.”

 _Oh._ “Wow...that... _that’s_ why?”

“That’s kind of a big deal Stiles.”

“I mean, probably. Maybe if I wasn’t consenting.” Stiles raises an eyebrow at him.

“Listen, Stiles,” Derek looks open, vulnerable, “You’re young...inexperienced...I can’t just take advantage of that.”

“Wow, Derek, _really_? Can we just...would it be alright to go over the last year of my life? Because I’ve been trapped in my own high school, attacked by Peter, paralyzed against my will, almost killed by a fucking kanima more times than I’d like to think about, kidnapped by the Argents, knocked unconscious by _a piece of my own car_ , and read far too many - frankly disturbing - entries in the bestiary for any rational person. So yeah. I don’t think I’m your typical seventeen year-old,” Stiles paused, licking his lips, “Just like you’re not the typical overly-muscled, ridiculously ripped, crazy-hot-”

Derek placed a hand over his mouth, “ _Shut up_ , Stiles!”

Stiles could tell that he was sincerely trying to affect a stoic expression, but laughter began to trickle out nonetheless. And that was...that was fucking adorable. It’s kind of shameful when Stiles realizes how easy it would be to fall in love with Derek if he were like this all the time, rather than consumed by his own ennui.

But this Derek, the one that lets some of his snark come out, who’s actually really smart and kinda funny, who _right now_ isn’t focused on being in charge, who _is_ looking at Stiles with something that looks like _want_ in his eyes. And suddenly Stiles is prying Derek’s hand away and forcing himself back into Derek’s space. Not yet taking the extra step though, because he wants Derek to do that. He wants Derek to admit that he wants this.

“I’m just saying...my teenage experience has been a bit different than usual. I mean, I don’t know if you know dude, but there are _werewolves_ in this small town.”

Derek’s hands are hovering in front of him, as if he’s afraid of touching him again. Exasperated, Stiles grabs them and plants them firmly on his own hips before looping his arms loosely around Derek’s neck.

Derek lets out a deep chuckle, _Good job, Stiles_ , “Oh really?” His hands roam up to Stiles’s waist, thumbs circling in the fabric of his shirt, “And how does a regular human like you react to werewolves?”

“Apparently I decide to develop a ridiculous, possibly impossible crush on the best-looking one.”

Those absurd eyebrows raise, “Oh really? The _best_ -looking one?”

“Yeah, you might know him, he looks _really good_ in a leather jacket.”

Derek’s lips are so fucking close to his that Stiles can feel the vibrations when Derek laughs and speaks again, “Oh he does, does he?”

Stiles starts to answer in the affirmative, but Derek chooses that moment to finally, FINALLY, close the distance and press their lips back together. And this time, it’s more forceful, more desperate, and Stiles is definitely alright with that. Derek’s hands shift lower until they’re resting against the back of Stiles’s thighs, then suddenly Stiles is airborne - Awesome - for just a second while Derek turns him and sets him on the desk.

And this position is, well, it’s not too different height-wise but it allows Stiles to spread his knees in a V and pull Derek closer to him. That part of it is rather nice, and makes Stiles wish there weren’t so many layers separating them from completely touching. Derek seems to agree because he’s pushing his hands under Stiles’s shirts and tracing his fingers against his skin as he nudges the shirt up. Stiles helpfully lifts his arms so Derek can tug the shirt completely off, then messily pulls Derek’s shirt up, exposing the abs that Stiles is sure he’s seen before, but seem so much nicer to look at now.

Derek practically ripped his own shirt off before lunging forward and latching his mouth onto Stiles’s neck, right where it curved into his shoulder muscle. It was mostly open-mouthed sloppy, sucking kisses, but there were definitely teeth involved. Dull, human teeth, but teeth that were going to leave a mark nonetheless. And all Stiles could do was grip his fingers into Derek’s hair to press him closer and moan obscenely at what Derek was doing to him.

“If I’d known it was this easy to get you to stop talking...” Derek teased before continuing to mark Stiles’s neck.

“Oh I can...I can talk. I just...fuck Derek don’t stop...that is....”

Derek’s chuckle rumbles against his saliva-soaked skin and somehow even _that’s_ hot. He is so gone and Derek has barely even touched him. As if he’s reading Stiles’s thoughts, Derek’s hands start moving lower until his thumbs are pressing against the creases between his thigh and groin and Stiles thinks he might actually die a boner-induced death if he doesn’t get his pants unzipped right this second.

Of course, his hands are clumsy and fumbling despite his best efforts, and it only takes a few seconds before Derek gently grabs Stiles’s hands and places them on the rounded muscle of his shoulders before deftly opening up Stiles’s jeans then his own. Derek leans forward just enough to press their foreheads together and gazes into Stiles’s eyes like he’s making sure that the light is still green. And Stiles realizes that he really should be talking more.

“Derek...please...I really, really want you, right now.”

“What do you want, Stiles?”

Stiles tilts his head so he’s looking at him from under his eyelashes, “Whatever you’ll give me.”

The groan that escaped Derek’s lips staggered the line between needy and feral, something that Stiles never really knew he could find arousing. Yet he was downright aching while Derek was busy freeing both their cocks from their elastic-and-cotton restraints.

Once Stiles got a good look at Derek’s cock, he sent up a prayer to whatever deity that was listening for this to not be the only time they do this because fuck, cocks were not allowed to look that nice. Sure, okay, maybe at this point in his life he hadn’t ever actually given anyone a blowjob, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel a desperate pull in his chest to wrap his lips around the perfect-looking dick that Derek was - _fuck_.

Stiles dug his short nails into Derek’s shoulders, “Jesus fucking Christ, Derek. God...yes...keep doing that.”

Somehow Derek’s hand was large enough to nearly wrap all the way around both of them and he tugged them both in synchronicity. And this...this was different. Sure, Stiles had spent quite a lot of time with his own hand wrapped around his dick, but it was a very, very different feeling to have someone else doing it for you. And the slick skin of Derek’s dick sliding against his own was a new added sensation that he was frantically enjoying.

He really wanted to keep talking, to tell Derek exactly how amazing just... _everything_ was feeling right now, but every time he opened his mouth he just babbled nonsensical sentences comprised of swear words and Derek’s name. Derek’s grip tightened and his pace quickened, as if his werewolf senses somehow gave him the ability to know when a person was getting close to losing it.

Stiles gave up any pretense of composure and panted against Derek’s cheek while he slid his fingers down Derek’s back - appreciating every muscle that was tensing and releasing - until his hands settled on the immaculate mounds that comprised Derek’s ass. And, yes, really, once his mind was better composed, he was going to write a sonnet about this ass. He was going to start a Kickstarter to get an opera performed about this ass. Given the proper amount of time, he could turn this ass into a religion, and planned on it. Because _damn. Thank you Derek Hale and your insane need to stay in such fantastic shape_.

The outlines of his spiritual conversion could be negotiated later, because right now all he wanted to focus on was kneading his fingers into the plush skin of Derek’s ass, encouraging him to rock against Stiles. Which, yeah, brought a whole new level of ‘Amazing’ to what was already happening. Suddenly Derek was seeking out his mouth again, although their kisses were more teeth than lips at this point, and Stiles could feel himself tightening up until a fucking wave rushed through him and made his vision flash. He could feel Derek’s body jerk right before he felt the splatter of warm liquid against his chest.

Smiling, he looked down at the mess, “Wow...we....uh,” He took a few panting breaths, “That was pretty fantastic, Derek.”

Thankfully, Derek is smiling too, “Yeah...yeah...that was.”

Stiles shifts to adjust himself and hop off the table, but Derek holds him in place at the waist and starts nuzzling his neck, over the spots that he’d marked just moments prior. And while it feels _really_ nice, Stiles is feeling light-headed right now and what Derek’s doing isn’t helping.

Derek gently grabs his chin so he can stare directly into his eyes, “Are you...are you alright? Was that okay?”

“Oh my god Derek,” Stiles laughs and rubs a hand over his face, “That was way more than okay.”

The smile that Derek gives him, so fucking open and - fuck - happy, makes Stiles want to wrap a warm blanket around his shoulders and make sure that Derek smiles like that for the rest of his life.

Instead, Stiles just wraps his arms tighter around him, “And I need to know that...what we just did...wasn’t a one-time thing.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, “Really?”

“Jesus, Derek. Yes. Absolutely. Like, that was just the most amazing experience of my teenage existence. And I would really, really, like for that to happen again. Well, I mean, not just that, there might actually be a whole list of things I’d like to do. Not that I’ve written a list out or anything. Not yet at least.”

Derek rolled his eyes, “I think I get it, Stiles,” And tugged Stiles forward until their lips met.

Stiles pulled back briefly, “And just so you know, theoretically, number one on the list would be you showing me lots more of your modeling portfolio.”

Derek chuckled against his lips, “Yeah, that can be arranged.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends my first foray into Sterek fic (maybe...) 
> 
> Any and all feedback is very much appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Do you enjoy pugs, outer space, and that one gif of Neal Patrick Harris where he's dancing with muppets? I can provide all that for you and more...[right this way](http://somnambulipstick.tumblr.com)


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